Beckett's Prisoner
by purplangel
Summary: What if Beckett lost it after her mother's death and her only sense of sanity came through Richard Edgar Castle's books? (Set before season 1. Winter kink Meme Fill) Beckett has abducted her favorite author and keeps him cuffed, tied up and or drugged in her bedroom to have her dirty way with him whenever she likes. AU. {This one will hopefully be a love story ;)
1. Chapter 1

**Thank U Twisha for tackling this kink meme and inspiring me to also write about it... **(Set before season 1) Beckett has abducted her favorite author and keeps him cuffed, tied up and or drugged in her bedroom to have her dirty way with him whenever she likes.

**Please check out Twisha's story, 'Kept,' as it's amazing!**

**...**

"Don't worry, Castle. I'm not planning on hurting you," came the voice that sounded like a secret floating on the wind, - calm, tentative with an undercurrent of excitement that made him shiver with the implication. "Unless of course, you're unwilling to cooperate."

_Oh God_, he recognized that voice... The woman with the dirty-blond wig which swayed below her shoulders, who came to his book signing hours earlier in a Met's baseball cap, over sized man's dress shirt and black denim jeans that had seen better days. Upon first impression he thought she'd be a perfect candidate for the Television show, 'What Not To Wear,' as hidden beneath her baggy attire was a smoking body she was consciously trying to hide.

_Yes,_ he preened_, I do know women's bodies and this one_ (he'd be willing to bet his stocks in Marvel Comics_) is hiding a perfect ten._

Upon closer inspection, she was a real beauty even devoid of all make-up. The woman's bone structure was similar to a model's, - sleek bony lines, long graceful neck, but it was the darkness in her eyes that simply captivated him, a testament to her suffering.

The author in him couldn't help wondering if she was wearing the wig due to radiation or chemo-therapy treatments, or possibly she'd been in an accident and recently had brain surgery, or maybe she was covering burns, but (and his heart twisted at the notion) most likely, she was hiding from an abusive lover / spouse.

His eyes tried to catch the hazel ones hidden behind the black wire-rimmed glasses, but they skittered away from him as she slid his latest Derrick Storm novel across the table.

"Make it out to Ka - . No, **Jo** please," and the way she nervously pulled on her lower lip drew his attention to her rose pink mouth.

He obviously caught her slip and with an engaging smile teased, "Kay-Jo. Such an interesting, unique nickname. Quite pretty... May I ask how you got it?"

He was surprised by how uncomfortable she became, - shifting from one foot to the other, avoiding eye contact, - as if the question itself or the sound of his voice had triggered a troubled memory.

"Nothing. It means nothing. Sorry. I meant to say Johanna. Make it out to Johanna please."

Maybe it was the way she glanced at the Exit door, or the way she checked out the security guard standing off to his right side, but he got the distinct impression that scouting out her locale was something she did on a regular basis. Her eyes quickly assessed her surroundings before landing back on him. There was something simmering beneath the surface of their multi-colored depths that intrigued him, seemed to speak to his soul... He got the impression she was hiding just how big a fan she was, and whatever he wrote in her book would mean something special to her, might even change the course of her life, - forever.

He opened the book to the title page and paused, unnerved by this woman who was waiting with baited breath for his autograph, and he found himself writing something that he'd never penned before in a fan's book.

**_To Johanna, a truly lovely name which means 'God is gracious'. _**

**_The Man upstairs and I have one thing in common. We both hope that all your dreams come true, in the printed word as well as reality. Don't be afraid to reach for your dreams, Jo. _**

**_Richard Castle._**

As he handed her back the book, his fingertips skimmed hers which were soft and warm. His sky-blue eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected spark which traveled up his forearm.

_Haunting,_ he thought as his eyes beheld golden flecks scattered amidst the green irises. _This woman's fighting demons. _

He wondered how many layers resided beneath her shell as she was clearly trying not to draw attention to herself.

"I meant what I wrote," he said sincerely, his eyes never leaving her model features.

Gina rushed up then and tapped her Rolex impatiently saying there was one more hour left and she needed him to only autograph books instead of personalizing them so he could see as many fans as possible.

A shy smile lit up her exquisite face before she breathed, "Thank you, Castle," and she clutched the book to her heart before turning away from him.

It didn't slip past him how odd it was that she called him by his last name... "Castle," had flowed from her lips in a surprisingly familiar manner, almost as if she'd been practicing saying his name over and over again.

His eyes followed her retreat and he grinned cheekily at the 4 inch heeled boots which seemed so out of place with her attire. His eyes roamed up her long legs to her ass and _Shit!_ There was an unmistakable outline of a handgun stuffed into her jeans.

_Heels and a handgun, Mmm, an unbelievably hot combination._

Her hasty departure caused an unusual longing to rise within him, - longing to go after her and stop her fleeing, - delve into her history and learn her story because he had no doubt that she was a walking/talking/breathing masterpiece-in-the-making.

He soulfully sighed as the next young fan stepped up for his autograph, because the moment was lost and the unassuming beauty would forever remain a mystery; one that he'd never have the chance to solve.

**...**

His shoulders were aching, pulled taut above his head. He tried rotating his wrists but found them bound by silk ties. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly but only darkness blanketed his vision. His eyelashes swept closed behind the night mask. He relaxed, trying to ease the tension in his arms and sunk into an extremely comfortable bed. He breathed deeply, grateful that he had at least full mobility of his legs as they were not restrained.

Her voice dragged him back to full awareness... The voice of the mystery woman with a tortured soul.

"You don't need to be afraid," she said, sitting on the bed next to him, fingers trailing over his bulging bicep. "Your words fill me with hope. I'm thrilled that you're finally here with me."

_She's thrilled that I'm finally with her? … _And the memories rushed over him like the raging waters of Niagra Falls: Refusing a drink with Gina after his book signing. Declining the Security Guard's offer to see him to his Escalade. Walking out of the Forbidden Planet bookstore. Finding his vehicle in the 'Reserved' spot for Authors. Typing in the security code to unlock his door. Sitting in the driver's seat and seeing a flash of dull blond hair in the rear view mirror. A sharp sting to his jugular from female hands covered in leather gloves.

Then nothing.

And now?

He could hear her heavy breathing, feel the eagerness in her touch as her hands mapped out his chest, sense her overwhelming need to prove that she's in charge.

He smelled strawberries… No, it was ripe cherries filling his nostrils as her natural hair cascaded over his face.

Roaming determined fingers, hot breath, a sensual sigh.

His heart hammered as fast as a jack rabbit running away from a hunter as her lips pressed against his, tentative, tasting, - leaving him with a sense of yearning that he didn't expect as she drew back from him.

"Wha – What are you doing?" he eeked out, ashamed at sounding like a wimpy, frightened teenager.

"I'm only doing what you'd expect **any** woman to do to you in a bedroom... Try to relax. I promise you'll enjoy what I have planned for you."

_Oh Gawd, I take it back, I take it back_… he silently begged_, I do not need to unravel the mystery of the crazy-hot-heeled-handgun-woman._**_  
_**

**_..._**

**je****nnysimonekate, I've truly missed your reviews girl and am so excited to hear from you once more.**


	2. Chapter 2

**His heart hammered as fast as a jack rabbit running away from a hunter as her lips pressed against his, tentative, tasting, - leaving him with a sense of yearning that he didn't expect as she drew back from him.**

**"Wha – What are you doing?" he eeked out, ashamed at sounding like a wimpy, frightened teenager.**

**"I'm only doing what you'd expect any woman to do to you in a bedroom... Try to relax. I promise you'll enjoy what I have planned for you."**

_**Oh Gawd, I take it back, I take it back**_**… he silently begged****_, I do not need to unravel the mystery of the crazy-hot-heeled-handgun-woman._**

_**…**_

"Hey, slow down," he pleaded, his masculine baritone filling the room. "Honestly, - I'm flattered." Rick conspicuously crossed his ankles, hoping to tamp down his erection which was growing at an alarming rate due to her sleek hands.

Warm, decisive hands with deft fingers that were ...

"Uggh," he groaned, trying to turn away from her but the action caused his elbow to swish into a soft breast.

"I consider it an honor that of _**all **_the famous authors in New York City, you've chosen me." He chuckled, "Michael Connelly is going to be so envious when he hears about this, - but **this **is definitely not how I would have planned our first date."

Her answering chuckle was light, feminine, flirty and practically curled his toes. "Only you would consider this a date... Let me guess, Playboy Extraordinaire, you're the type of man who enjoys the chase?"

_Keep her talking, Rick_. _Distract her so she's not distracting you._

"Something like that... I like making the preparations for the evening, trying to impress my date with the effort. I enjoy being chivalrous, open up doors, pick up the tab, but most importantly, I want to learn more about her, - who she is beneath the surface, and hopefully, by the end of the night, I find her brains match her beauty."

Her lips wandered up to his ear, speaking seductively, "Would you be more willing if I could prove to you that my brains surpass my beauty?"

"Mmm, sounds tempting, but ya know, I prefer to be a willing participant during a seduction." He drew out his secret weapon, speaking to her in his deep, sensual voice which most of the female population couldn't resist. "Let me show you just how willing I can be… Please untie at one of my hands."

"Sorry," she purred. "I know you'd try to escape and I'd hate to have to hurt that handsome mug of yours."

He grinned then, all suave and debonair, bringing on his famous Rick Castle charm. "You don't know me very well then. This scenario would make an explosive chapter in my next Derrick Storm novel… I'm excited about the research this will, **umm,** require."

He silently berated himself as his cock jumped gleefully at the thought.

"**No**, I didn't take you to become a star in your next book."

He was surprised by the underlying panic in her tone.

"I only wanted to thank you for… " Her voice trailed off and his mind ran a mile a minute.

_She kidnapped me to thank me? What in the world for? And if this is her way of thanks I'd hate to see how she expresses true gratitude. _

But as her lips landed on his carotid, sucking furiously with just the right amount of pressure, he thought, _Hmm, I may just have to rethink that theory._

Her fingers quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt and soft hands brushed it away from his torso.

"Just think of me as one of your conquests, Castle... Just a one-night-stand with benefits... You won't even have to try and remember my name."

"But what if I want to remember your name?"

_Shit!_ Her mouth's on his nipple, pulling aggressively while her hands splayed on his hips and _wow, _that just might be the sexiest sound he's ever heard come from a woman's mouth before.

He groaned desperately, "Assaulting a man against his will is breaking the law."

Her laughter this time sounded almost sadistic. "**I am **the law."

The next instant a gag was placed in his mouth and harshly tied behind his head.

"I should've known that you'd be a talker," she breathed. "I don't want to drug you, but I will if it's necessary. Please, - just let me **_pleasure _** you," and the way she said the word, like sin-on-a-stick, sent a bolt of awareness to his shaft.

He was about to be raped by a lunatic fan and he despised himself just a bit thinking, _Johanna's going to make some disturbed, sordid fantasy of mine come true; -_ a fantasy he didn't even know existed until he'd woken up with his wrists tied to a bed frame, his eyes covered by a night mask, kidnapped by an intriguing, beautiful, **unbalanced** woman with sexy heels and a handgun.

He really should be sweating buckets knowing she owned a gun plus suffered from delusions of grandeur, at least where the judicial system's concerned, but there was something in her voice that tugged at him (_and yes, it happened to tug_ _in all the right places)..._ Something dark and dangerous yet hauntingly familiar, beckoning to him as if he and he alone was fated to be her Savior.

_Whatever drug knocked me out earlier must still be in my system, because that's just plain nutters. When she's captured, Gina's going to have to reserve a cell right next to Jo's with my name on it._

_OMPhhh, **yes,**_ _just like that._.. Her slick tongue dragged across his navel.

Rick would have to agree that your other senses are heightened exponentially when you're unable to see. He could easily hear her jagged breaths, signifying the building of her desire and _Woah!_ she was pulling down those well-worn jeans from off her legs and by the sound of it, leaving those barely-legal heels on.

_Seriously?_

The next few moments flew by in a flash as with a whip of hands she'd freed his member from the confines of his pants and _Sweet Jesus_, her mouth's over him doing sinfully dirty things and no matter if he doesn't want this to happen or not,_ his_ Knight's responding to her expert lips and _fuck it_, he can't stop himself from bucking up his hips.

The sexual tension begins coiling at the base of his pelvis and travels all the way up his spine and by the time she slinks down on him, all silky tight sex around his throbbing cock, his ears are rushing and his heart is racing and this is going to be faster than he ever would've expected.

He tries to bite out, "Condom," around the gag, but she's already begun moving, - up and down, up and down, squeezing her inner thighs, sliding down his shaft and tilting her hips, taking him completely inside her.

She slides effortlessly, absorbing his girth, and his manhood takes pride in the fact that she's so wet for him.

It's one of the sexiest things he's ever experienced knowing he can tell by the twist of her downswing that she's getting off on the extra friction of his pants.

She stops. Flicks his nipples roughly before dragging her fingernails down his abs.

She leans back, places her hands on his upper thighs, fingers digging into the muscled flesh.

He sighs because even though his eyes are covered, he can picture her riding him… Picture her blazing hazel eyes, back arched with soft, perky breasts bouncing sensuously in front of him, a sheen of sweat glistening between the twin peaks.

He's envisioning her with midnight-black curls framing her oval face, thin lips twisted in pleasure as she gyrates above him, desire escalating with every clench of her loins.

He wonders if she has an hourglass figure similar to Kate Upton or if she's more stick-thin, like Kate Bosworth, but at this moment he just doesn't care as she's unbelievably tight around him and the fucking's so excruciatingly good.

She rides him slow, sensual… Making every movement count, circling her hips, and then grinding down.

He can tell that she's close from the mewling whimpers struggling to break free…

Just before she falls he hears, "Thank you for saving my life," and then she's crying out, clenching around him, a long press of her hips that pulls him deep inside of her, her inner muscles gripping and tugging, milking his own orgasm from him without a choice.

He gruffly bellows, "Jo," her name muffled behind the gag but no less powerful as she continues to gyrate, striving to bring them both back to reality together… She then slumps on him, all long tangled limbs with her lips nestled in the crook of his neck.

He can't quite catch his breath, can't fathom the magnitude of his orgasm as he's still seeing stars, - white and red and gray flash behind his eyelids.

His heart stutters as the ecstasy tunnels through his blood unchecked, making him light-headed. It's so amazingly powerful that he feels on the verge of passing out and he honestly can't remember the last time he was affected this way by a woman.

She speaks in a surprised tone, the vibrations of her voice traveling straight to his heart. "You remember me?"

He nods his head up and down in her direction and the next moment she's untying his gag and he's breathing in fresh air.

"Of course," he says sincerely. "Long legs, exquisite face, mysterious hazel eyes, hiding behind a blond wig and adorable Librarian glasses. You, Johanna, would be a very difficult person to forget."

"Dammit!" and she's off him before he even realizes what's happening, his body keening towards her lost warmth.

"I'm sorry," she says before the needle enters his carotid. "I didn't expect you to remember who I am."


	3. Chapter 3

**He can't quite catch his breath, can't fathom the magnitude of his orgasm as he's still seeing stars, - white and red and gray flash behind his eyelids.**

**His heart stutters as the ecstasy tunnels through his blood unchecked, making him light-headed. It's so amazingly powerful that he feels on the verge of passing out and he honestly can't remember the last time he was affected this way by a woman.**

**She spoke in a surprised tone, the vibrations of her voice traveling straight to his heart. "You remember me?"**

**He nods his head up and down in her direction and the next moment she's untying his gag and he's breathing in fresh air.**

**"Of course," he says sincerely. "Long legs, exquisite face, mysterious hazel eyes, hiding behind a blond wig and adorable Librarian glasses. You, Johanna, would be a very difficult person to forget."**

**"Dammit!" and she's off him before he even realizes what's happening, his body keening towards her lost warmth.**

**"I'm sorry," she says before the needle enters his carotid. "I didn't expect you to remember who I am."**

**…**

She didn't know that he was awake...

The ringing of her cell phone brought him out of his drugged state. He fought back a smile upon hearing her ring tone... "Bad, Boys, Bad Boys, What ya goin' to do? What ya goin' to do when they come for you?"

_I just bet she prefers Bad Boys, _he thought as it was easy envisioning his captor being attracted to men as Bad-Ass as her.

"Beckett," she answered.

_Beckett huh? _He strained to hear her next words as she strolled away from him.

"Are you kidding me, Esposito? … Hell, I need to get back in action."

_Who's this Esposito guy? A relative? Boyfriend? Co-worker? Ex-lover? ... He sounds like an important person in her life._

An unexpected pang of jealousy twisted his gut. He refused to admit what that might mean so attributed it to hunger pains ravaging his stomach.

"Yes, please. Fax me over the file and I'll take a look."

A few moments later she grumbled, "No. Dr. Burke says I need another psych evaluation before he'll approve my return back."

_Surprise, surprise, _he thought sarcastically_. She's seeing a psychiatrist.__  
_

"Yeah, I'm going stir crazy playing this waiting game. I need to get into the precinct."

_Nooo fuckin' way._

Either she was a politician's worst nightmare as a Poll worker or he'd been kidnapped by the hottest, craziest fan who also happened to be a cop… Someone licensed to carry a gun, as well as a taser, handcuffs and any other number of weapons with deadly skills to match.

_ Oh Gawd._

He suddenly found it difficult to breathe as an image of her riding him like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct floated through his mind… Riding him deliriously hard and fast before pulling out an ice pick and stabbing him multiple times to enhance her orgasm.

"Montgomery's pushing for me?" she asked incredulously. "Well, that's a relief… Uh, huh. Thanks for the heads-up."

Through wheezing breaths he guessed he was either petrified shitless about the implications of being kidnapped by a police officer, (It would be extremely easy for her to kill him and dispose of the body without a trace) or he was inexcusably turned-on by the idea. (And he'd have to be a true deviant nympho for that to be the case)

"Gotta go, Espo," and the next instant she's at Rick's side, concern rolling off her tongue.

"Castle," and she grasped both his cheeks, her thumbs circling the day-old scruff. "Listen to me and follow my instructions exactly or you're going to hyperventilate."

He nodded his head up and down, gasping for air.

She placed one hand below his ribs, directly on his stomach and the other on his chest.

"Breathe in through your nose deeply, counting to seven. Let the air push your stomach out, but keep your chest still."

As he complied with her instructions she continued, "Purse your lips before exhaling." She pressed gently down on his stomach to help push the air out of his lungs. "Count to 12 while exhaling… Good… Repeat at least five times."

"That's right," she encouraged softly. "Take your time breathing in and out."

Her hands were sure yet delicate on his skin.

"Again. Inhale for 7 seconds and then exhale slowly for 12."

Her quiet demeanor and soft voice helped to slow his breaths and calm his troubled mind.

As his breathing returned to normal, her lips skated across his cheek and the next moment, her head was over his heart, listening to the rampant heart beats.

"Please don't scare me like that again. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you."

The gesture was endearingly sweet, her words so sincere that his fear of her torturing him dissipated and was replaced with an annoying urge to be a 'gentleman,' and somehow comfort her.

"I'm alright," he reassured her. "Thank you for helping me through it."

"Do you suffer from panic attacks often?"

"No, that's a first," he smiled coyly, "but given the circumstances, I'm not surprised."

He didn't like the uncomfortable silence that followed… He could feel those incredible eyes watching him, sizing him up, trying to read him.

"I'm probably New York's number one fan of one-night-stands," he continued humorously, trying to lighten the mood. "And last night will certainly go down in the record books as a liason I'll never forget, but I've got to get home now. My 14-year-old daughter's expecting me."

When she got off the bed and started pacing the room, he continued truthfully, "Alexis is used to me staying out all night, but she does expect me to be home in the morning before she leaves for school... It's a Daddy-daughter thing."

At her quick intake of breath, he realized he must have triggered some memory for her and by the clipped tone of her response, it wasn't a pleasant one.

"You don't have to worry. She's expecting you to be gone the entire weekend. I texted both her and Martha, telling them Gina convinced you to leave on a last minute book tour to promote holiday sales."

"Oh," he said wearily, "I guess you've thought of everything."

She'd certainly done her homework on him, and he didn't quite know whether to feel frightened or flattered by the thought.

_It's Friday morning, - that means another three days trapped with her. _

He tamped down his Knight's enthusiasm over the possibilities of being held hostage for three full days with a sexy, unhinged, delusional woman, - not to mention the fact of a controlling cop.

_Why is sex with a crazy person so unbelievably hot?_

On the flip side, she might suddenly turn on him and become every novelist's night mare, - Kathy Bates from Misery. He shuddered at the thought of her taking a sledge hammer to his lower legs, hobbling him.

Somehow, he needed to convince her that he wasn't a threat and had no plans to go to the police and report being kidnapped, - especially now that he suspected she was in law enforcement.

His bladder suddenly screamed for release and took precedence over everything else.

"I really need to use the restroom," he whined, - hopefully in that cute, boyish manner that women seemed to think endearing. "My bladder's about to burst so if you don't want your sheets ruined, I suggest you untie me and point me in the direction of your bathroom."

She spoke confidently, as if she'd planned for this particular scenario... "I have to warn you that I'm trained in several different forms of martial arts. Don't try anything or a straining bladder won't be the only thing you're suffering from."

"Got it," he said, flashing his pearly whites. "The woman who likes to hide behind baggy clothes, a dirty blond wig and school-teacher glasses has killer defensive moves to match her killer legs."

_Shut the hell up, Rick, you moron, _but he couldn't stop himself from spouting,"If you ever daydream of training with Chuck Norris or Jackie Chan, I know a guy... I can certainly arrange it in exchange for my release."

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Castle?" she purred. **"You** are my only dream."

Yep, he was done for, - an obsessed fan whose only dream-in-life was to play house with her favorite author, or _Mmm,_ possibly just fuck her favorite author to death.

She reached over him to start untying the knot around his right hand.

"Don't touch the mask," she commanded as the silk scarf slipped from his wrist. "Turn over and lie on your stomach."

He did as she requested. Her left knee landed on his ass, holding him in place as she pulled his right arm at an awkward angle behind him.

This felt familiar... Like the last time he was cuffed by an officer due to riding a horse in Central Park in only his Birthday suit.

_Oh No!_ She was tying his wrist with the silk scarf to the belt loop on his pants.

"I'll be a good boy, I promise. I won't try and escape, but I can't take a leak with my dominant hand tied behind my back."

She actually laughed. A beautiful, melodic sound that he immediately wanted to hear again.

"It's debatable whether or not you know how to be a 'good boy'," she teased and he could picture the enormous, sparkling grin adorning her face. "Don't worry, I'll make sure your aim is perfect."

"Nooo," he said obviously agitated. "I didn't even let my ex-wives see me use the commode. That's a no go, Kay-Jo."

He could hear the smile in her voice at his nickname for her, "There's a first time for everything. I'm happy to help you if you'd like."

"I just bet you are," he grumbled. "I don't need any assistance from you as I can take care of myself with just my left hand."

He let out an exasperated groan as that sounded way dirtier than he intended.

"I'm certain you can," she guffawed while untying his left wrist. She rolled him back over, helping him to sit up.

"I've got this," he preened, not wanting any help from this exasperating woman who had his feelings in a jumbled mess, but as he stood up, blood rushed from his head and made him sway beside her.

She was instantly supporting him, her right arm clinging to his waist, holding him up, while his left arm snuck over her shoulder.

"It's eight steps to the master bath."

Her cherry scent swarmed his senses. His hand grasped her strong bicep as he leaned on her heavily, the curve of her breast pressing into his ribs with each and every step.

"Okay, you're standing directly in front of the john," and he heard her lift the lid. "Are you okay to stand on your own? Are you positive your knees won't buckle?"

An unexpected warmth filled him at her concern.

"I'm fine. Now **go away**," he pouted.

He heard her take a couple of steps back from him but felt those mesmerizing eyes watching his every move.

He unzipped his slacks with his left hand and pulled out his Knight, hoping his aim was correct.

He almost missed at her sultry, "I have to agree with the tabloids, Castle. You certainly do have, umm, **_nice_** assets."

He could practically feel her eyes burning into his ass.

"Thank you," he breathed, wishing he had the pleasure of seeing her assets so he could happily return the compliment. "Is the sink directly behind me?"

"Yes."

He flushed the commode, put his package back in place and zipped up his pants, turning towards the sink.

She turned the water on for him and pumped some liquid soap into his hand… The next moment her fingers were over his, rubbing the jasmine-scented soap into his digits, taking care with the palm of his hand, massaging every callous in a smooth circular motion.

She ran his hand under the hot water, slicing her fingers through his, making sure every particle of skin was thoroughly clean.

His Knight betrayed him and jumped at the simple action… _How the hell did she make that normal act seem so sensual?_

All too soon, she was finished and drying his palm, her arm around his waist once more, leading him out of the bathroom.

His arm wound its way back over her shoulder but his hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it meandered up to the nape of her neck, squeezing softly.

His fingers stroked the creamy skin, found her glossy tresses, captivated by the pixie length of her hair.

Somehow, someway, - she interpreted the gesture as hostile and the next moment she executed a self-defense move that left him breathless... She planted one foot between his, held his forearms and hip-threw him over her shoulder. He found himself flipped up in the air, landing with a loud thud on his back, his arm crushed beneath him.

The wind is knocked out of his lungs and his head is ringing, but the mask is askew and he can't fathom the furious tripping of his heart as he looks up into eyes the color of a forest after a rainstorm.

Thick, dark, short hair with auburn highlights surrounds her angelic face. Eyelashes, black as night and thick as honey, blink rapidly at him. Thin, elegant lips fall open into a sensual O as if beckoning him to kiss her. Model cheeks flush from his scrutiny.

She's bending towards him, small breasts straining against the tight, off-white, button-up blouse. Long legs encased in skinny jeans that look like they were tailored just for her, - practically a second skin, and her ensemble is topped off with those infuriatingly sexy heels.

Blood soars to his cock as he thinks about peeling away those jeans away from her hips, - with just his mouth.

"God, you're beyond gorgeous," falls from his lips.

Shock flits through those hazel eyes before desire claims their depths, making them gloriously murky.

With a seductive smile, she pounces on him like a prowling jaguar who's suddenly cornered its prey.

Pounces, attacks and slowly devours him.


	4. Chapter 4

**The wind is knocked out of his lungs and his head is ringing, but the mask is askew and he can't fathom the furious tripping of his heart as he looks up into eyes the color of a forest after a rainstorm.**

**Thick, dark, short hair with auburn highlights surrounds her angelic face. Eyelashes, black as night and thick as honey, blink rapidly at him. Thin, elegant lips fall open into a sensual O as if beckoning him to kiss her. Model cheeks flush from his scrutiny.**

**She's bending towards him, small breasts straining against the tight, off-white, button-up blouse. Long legs encased in skinny jeans that look like they were tailored just for her, - practically a second skin, and her ensemble is topped off with those infuriatingly sexy heels.**

**Blood soars to his cock as he thinks about peeling away those jeans away from her hips, - with just his mouth.**

**"God, you're beyond gorgeous," falls from his lips.**

**Shock flits through those hazel eyes before desire claims their depths, making them gloriously murky.**

**With a seductive smile, she pounces on him like a prowling jaguar who's suddenly cornered its prey.**

**Pounces, attacks and slowly devours him.**

**…**

She's younger than he initially thought... 26 is his best guess and _God,_ he feels inordinately pleased that at 37 years old he's kept himself fit and trim and has the muscle mass to prove it.

She certainly has no complaints.

He only has one, - he can't convince her to untie his wrist.

He'd pouted, pleaded, demanded even that she untie him so he could properly worship her body but she'd only laughed, a dirty chuckle that reverberated all the way to his loins, and he'd lost his witty rebuttal the moment she'd turned around and begun pulling those skinny jeans off her waist and flashed him that Adriana Lima ass.

_Yes, _he's beyond thrilled that his earlier assessment of her was correct… Those baggy, unstylish clothes she wore to his book signing were hiding a smokin' body with an ass that rivals a supermodel.

His arm is tingling beneath him and on the verge of going numb but at this instant, he doesn't care as her glorious body is on top of him, killer legs wrapped around his torso.

His left hand fumbles with the buttons on her blouse, aching to get a hold of a pert breast, needing to feel the pink bud he knows is erect just for him, but she has other ideas.

_Damn frustrating, gorgeous woman._

He groans when she won't hold still, gyrating sensuously, purposefully foiling his attempts to complete the task.

She erotically clenches her thighs, but it's exasperating as she's not quite in the right position, teasing them both by sitting low on his abdomen, directly above his manhood.

His lips are forced open, darting tongue dancing within the moist depths as she learns his taste, learns how to make him writhe beneath her.

She pulls back, eyes alight with dangerous fire before she goes back in for the kill, - biting him, - nipping at his lower lip, aggressively pulling it into her mouth.

He moans like a man who's never before experienced a woman's touch as she sucks on it heartily.

As he looks up into a face whose beauty resembles Helen of Troy, (_There's 100% chance that she'll be sinking his ship very soon_) something flashes within the shadowy depths of her eyes that sets his mind a buzzing, - makes him crave to know more about her, - the lover, the woman, the officer… And he's surprised to realize that it's **the man** in him who yearns to learn her story, not necessarily the writer.

As her mouth samples his neck, he grinds out, "Tell me why you chose me," fighting not to lose himself in her fiery touch, the boldness of her tongue and those unbelievably strong thighs.

"Shut up!" she hisses. "We can talk later."

"Promise me," and his hand grabs hers, stopping it from exploring the baby fine hairs tapering below his belly button. "As I need some answers."

His eyes search hers, - a sea of turquoise blue, begging for confirmation that she'll open up to him.

She nibbles on her lower lip invitingly, refusing to speak, and it takes all his willpower not to surge upwards and claim that lip for his own.

"You can trust me, Johanna."

"Trust has to be earned."

"Then give me the chance to earn it." He brings her slim hand up to his lips, never breaking eye contact, and open-mouth kisses her palm.

"Right now," she says tersely with a wanton look that betrays, 'I-need-you-to-fuck-me-senseless', "I need you to prove that you deserve your Bad-Boy reputation."

"Gladly," and there's a devious twinkle in his eyes that focuses solely on her breasts straining against the feminine fabric. "I thought you'd never ask."

A slow simmer roils through his blood as his left hand fails again to dislodge a button.

"God dammit!" he roars and the next moment her blouse is ripped open and buttons are skittering across the plush carpet.

His mind briefly registers the lacy black bra before he's shoving it up over her breast and fondling the mound, taking enormous pride in her salacious moan, the way she arches her back, shoving her breast further into his palm.

His cock is stone hard as her fingers slice fervently over his pants, successfully unzipping them.

Sinful sounds escape her mouth as she frees him and smears the pre-cum over the head of his shaft, - sounds that should be considered illegal in all 50 states. (_especially in her profession_)

He loses all conscious thought as she shoves her black silk thong to the side and mounts him in one swift stroke, consuming him with her tight sugar walls.

She shivers at the sensation of his bulk.

Her head whips back, exposing her slim neck to him. His left hand skims the creamy skin and he watches mesmerized as goose bumps erupt along the same path.

Her fingernails dig into his shoulder and send a shooting pain through his numb arm, having the opposite effect he expected as the pain seems to heighten his sexual prowess.

She demands his undivided attention, - commands him to respond to her with every flick of her roaming hands and every press of her lean hips.

His thumb pauses over her beating carotid, and he almost loses it with how in sync the pounding beats are to the pounding she's giving him.

His free hand tenses tightly on her hip as she performs the age-old dance of lovers, circling her pelvis like she's performing an erotic samba, owning the suggestive moves of the dance.

His blood surges to boiling, - raging through his veins with every downslide of her loins, her hot breath fluttering across his nipples, - teasing, stirring, building his desire to the breaking point.

She catches his eye and he stops breathing at the expression of pure ecstasy on her face.

He loses it once she raises her hands high above her head, clasps them together and shimmies her upper body like an exotic hula dancer, undulating her hips in the same manner, - picking up speed, faster and faster until he breaks on a sob, shooting hot spurts of semen into her velvet depths.

His release carries her over the next second. Those black-as-midnight, thick-as-honey lashes close and she screams his last name, - a raw, guttural sound that he's never heard from a woman before… The pure uninhibited sex in her voice incapacitates him, multiplies his orgasm by ten, making his cock pulse an inordinately long time.

She drapes herself over him as her orgasm slowly subsides, breathing erratically, and he can tell that she's just as affected as him by their explosive coupling. Her hands bunch in his shirt before trembling along his rib cage.

"Holy shit," she whispers, "That was…"

"I know," he answers, barely able to speak due to the magnitude of his emotions. His hand careens up and down her back, snagging on her bra along the way.

He doesn't know what's happening to him, can't fathom the turmoil coursing through his veins as _bloody hell,_ he's been kidnapped by an unstable, utterly beautiful woman whose spell has bewitched him… He can think of no other term for it than, 'spell,' as he can't comprehend this infatuation, this rare connection he feels towards her.

He can sense the conflicting emotions running through her now that the adrenaline is subsiding, - sense her uneasiness, her hesitation as her breathing slows and her muscles tense... It feels almost like she's erecting a wall or a fortress to hide behind.

A coil of fear wraps itself around his heart as he's going to lose his moment of opportunity to learn more about her before it even begins.

"Hey," he soothes, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "You promised me we would talk… Plea – se," and he can't stand how needy he sounds. "Please tell me how I saved your life."


	5. Chapter 5

**She drapes herself over him as her orgasm slowly subsides, breathing erratically, and he can tell that she's just as affected as him by their explosive coupling. Her hands bunch in his shirt before trembling along his rib cage.**

**"Holy shit," she whispers, "That was…"**

**"I know," he answers, barely able to speak due to the magnitude of his emotions. His hand careens up and down her back, snagging on her bra along the way.**

**He doesn't know what's happening to him, can't fathom the turmoil coursing through his veins as ****_bloody hell,_**** he's been kidnapped by an unstable, utterly beautiful woman whose spell has bewitched him… He can think of no other term for it than, 'spell,' as he can't comprehend this infatuation, this rare connection he feels towards her.**

**He can sense the conflicting emotions running through her now that the adrenaline is subsiding, - sense her uneasiness, her hesitation as her breathing slows and her muscles tense... It feels almost like she's erecting a wall or a fortress to hide behind.**

**A coil of fear wraps itself around his heart as he's going to lose his moment of opportunity to learn more about her before it even begins.**

**"Hey," he soothes, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "You promised me we would talk… Plea – se," and he can't stand how needy he sounds. "Please tell me how I saved your life."**

**…**

There's a sadness about her that tumbles his way and touches his soul. Her hazel eyes which were moments ago glossy with desire are now dull, almost lifeless. She pulls back from his hand and reluctantly extracts herself from his limbs.

"Give me a moment," and then she's sliding up and off him, pulling her underwear and brassiere back into place. She walks into the master bath and turns on the tap.

He can hear her cleaning her face, can picture her looking in the mirror with those mysterious eyes, wondering what she's going to say to him.

He knows she's stalling, trying to collect herself, preparing to face him.

He wonders if he'll get the whole truth or just half-truths or if she's even capable of opening up to him.

"This is for you," she says before tossing him a warm washcloth to clean himself.

He can't help admiring her never-ending legs in the oversized METS baseball jersey she's thrown on.

"Thank you," and the gratitude easily comes through in his voice.

"You must be starving... I'll be right back with some food."

He watches her walk confidently out of the bedroom, shoulders back, head held high, short auburn hair swinging around her face. A burst of excitement jolts through his veins at the prospect of learning how many layers she's hiding behind.

It doesn't skip his notice that she locks the door from the other side.

He quickly cleans himself and zips his Knight back into place, sitting up gingerly. His dominant arm aches for release so he slowly rotates his shoulder, wincing at the pain.

He removes the eye mask completely and runs his hand through his hair, trying to tame the unruly locks.

His head falls back against the plush mattress as he waits.

Waits for**_ her_** return.

_What the hell's happening to me? I should be roaming about the room, going through her stuff, trying to find out more about her and more importantly, trying to find a way to escape. _

He admits, albeit grudgingly, that he hates himself just a bit for his curious nature but most of all for his body's betrayal… All because of a strikingly beautiful, slightly insane seductress.

_Speak of the devil…_

She walks in with a small tray of food and asks him to sit back up on the bed.

He complies, silently snickering about the outrageous cost of therapy, as _seriously, _shouldn't he be resisting? Shouldn't it take longer than 24 hours in captivity before you're struck with 'Stockholm Syndrome'?

She's tying his left wrist back to the bed frame before he even realizes it.

"Please release my right hand. It's killing me," he groans.

"I will," she assures him, and he can't help shivering as her hands run down his bicep before landing on his ribs, rolling him onto his side.

He sighs in relief as his arm is finally freed from the constraining position. He stretches it out and rolls his wrist around a few times.

"Are you thirsty?"

"Yes."

She gives him a full glass of orange juice (And NO, that wasn't a spark he felt as her fingers touched his) and watches him beneath lowered lashes, - watches his expression as the cool refreshing liquid slides down his throat. Her eyes drop to his neck and glide along his Adams apple as he swallows heartily.

"Thank you… How about I eat while you talk?" He nods towards the ham sandwich and vegetables on the tray.

She hands him the wheat sandwich and her eyes dart away from him as she speaks timidly.

"You probably won't believe this about me, but I was raised in a very loving home in upper Manhattan… I'm one of the lucky ones who grew up with two wonderful parents who doted on their only child." She cleared her throat and Castle sensed it was difficult for her to go on. "Growing up, I was surrounded by wealthy kids who came from broken homes who envied my life… I realized at a very young age how blessed I was to have my parents."

His eyes open in amazement at her confession. _Yes,_ this news is surprising as he pictured her growing up in the suburbs, a rougher part of New York where she suffered greatly during childhood, possibly tossed around in the Foster-Care system, - abused, neglected. It would make more sense with her current state-of-mind.

He quirks his head to the side, those azure blue eyes studying her, - the exotic eyebrows drawn together, the tiny lines fanning out from her eyes, the thin, kissable lips, and _Ohhh damn_, how did he miss the sexy Marilyn Monroe mole before now?

He quickly glances upwards and softly smiles as he can't quite pinpoint the exact color of her eyes as they flit nervously around the room.

"Please continue," he says before taking another bite of the sandwich, savoring the meaty flavor and silently notating 'cooking' as another one of her skills because it tastes heavenly, like it was just picked up at a gourmet deli.

"I remember the first day my Mom brought home one of your books." Her face brightened with a radiant smile as she thought back on the memory. "I was 14 at the time, had just finished practicing reading lines for the school play and she sauntered in, a glowing smile on her face. She slid the book across the kitchen table and said, 'Look what I just picked up. The librarian swears that Richard Castle will be the next big mystery novelist. I can't wait to start reading his series.' "

"So your Mom's a fan?"

Her eyes locked onto his and portrayed something he couldn't quite define... "Yes, she is... She's the reason I started reading your books."

"I'll have to thank her then," he said teasingly, flashing that thousand-watt-celebrity-smile-of-his that made most women swoon. His fingers reached up and pushed back a stray lock of hair, trying to catch her eye.

"Did your Mom ever come to one of my book signings?"

"Umm, Yes. Actually two. She didn't get to meet you at the first one though because the line was too long."

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd love to read what I wrote to her."

She immediately mumbled, "Thank you for being such a devoted fan of my work. I hope Derek can help carry you through the Storms in life, especially the ones that await you in the law."

_We - llll, that does it..._ He was officially creeped out by her acknowledgement as she'd obviously memorized what he'd written in her Mom's book... The last line reverberated around his skull, sending a spine-tingling chill down his back.

_Especially the ones that await you in the law._

_Like mother, like daughter._

He felt uneasy under the heavy weight of her stare... Those hazel eyes boring into him as if she could see all the way into his soul.

He quickly asked, "So, how did she convince you to start reading them?"

His eyes filled with mischief as he thought of an older version of the woman before him with gray streaks scattered throughout dark, shoulder-length hair, and with the same lovely mouth and expressive eyes. "Did she rant and rave about Derek Storm's dashing nature or bad-ass skills? ... Or focus more on the cunning mystery aspect of the story or I know, I know," his voice rose like a jubilant child, "She reveled in the gruesome murders in the book?"

_Shit. _He'd said the wrong thing.

Her eyes shuttered closed and she took a deep breath before bounding off the bed away from him.

"There's not much more to tell," she shrugged her shoulders, pacing the room angrily, and it tore at his heart strings when he noticed her fighting back tears.

"Johanna, I'm sorry. I've obviously said something that upset you. Please set the record straight."

"What do you want to hear, Castle?" she asked with frustration vibrating through every word. "That one dark day my world suddenly shattered? That eight years ago, something happened to change my life forever? That during my impressionable teenage years, my perfect life crumbled and ended as I knew it and I was never the same again? Do you want to hear that my life could actually be a replica of one your books? ... Because if that's what you want me to say, - "

A cell phone suddenly rang out with an endearingly, beautiful song, - interrupting her. Bob Carlisle's voice sang, "There's two things I know for sure: She was sent here from Heaven and she's Daddy's little girl."

Rick's heart fluttered upon hearing, 'Butterfly Kisses'. "That's Alexis calling me," he said fervently and his captor turned on her heel and headed into the master closet.

She walked out looking so damn enticing in just that short baseball tee, all skyscraper legs and concerned, pouty mouth as she pulled on her lower lip.

_How does she make nibbling her lip so fuckin' erotic?_

"Ouch!" flew from his lips when she shoved the needle into his carotid... An eery calm settled over him when she didn't depress the plunger, her hazel eyes swirling with fear.

"I'm going to put the call on speaker," she said ominously. "Don't give her any hints about what's happened to you... Remember, - " and she smiled sickeningly sweet, "I can render you unconscious in a heartbeat."


	6. Chapter 6

**"What do you want to hear, Castle?" she asked with frustration vibrating through every word. "That one dark day my world suddenly shattered? That eight years ago, something happened to change my life forever? That during my impressionable teenage years, my perfect life crumbled and ended as I knew it and I was never the same again? Do you want to hear that my life could actually be a replica of one your books? ... Because if that's what you want me to say, - "**

**A cell phone suddenly rang out with an endearingly, beautiful song, - interrupting her. Bob Carlisle's voice sang, "There's two things I know for sure: She was sent here from Heaven and she's Daddy's little girl."**

**Rick's heart fluttered upon hearing, 'Butterfly Kisses'. "That's Alexis calling me," he said fervently and his captor turned on her heel and headed into the master closet.**

**She walked out looking so damn enticing in just that short baseball tee, all skyscraper legs and concerned, pouty mouth as she nibbled on her lower lip.**

_**How does she make nibbling her lip so fuckin' erotic?**_

**"Ouch!" flew from his lips when she shoved the needle into his carotid... An eery calm settled over him when she didn't depress the plunger, her hazel eyes swirling with fear.**

**"I'm going to put the call on speaker," she said ominously. "Don't give her any hints about what's happened to you... Remember, - " and she smiled sickeningly sweet, "I can render you unconscious in a heartbeat."**

**…**

"Dad?" Alexis' voice sounded like music to his ears. "Thank God you picked up as I was starting to worry. What's going on? Why didn't you leave me a note like you usually do when you disappear? And what's with the cryptic texts?"

"Hey, slow down pumpkin," he cautiously looked at Johanna, a tell-tale sweat breaking out over his brow as her right hand shook slightly while holding the needle in place. "Everything's fine. I'm sorry for suddenly bailing on you… Didn't Gina contact you?"

"No she didn't. And since when do you drop everything to follow the orders of the Wicked Witch of Black Pawn?"

"Umm," he caught Johanna's delighted smile out of the corner of his eye at his daughter's nickname for his ex-wife. "Since she now has the power to reduce or revoke my paychecks."

"Daaad," Alexis whined, "What about your promise?"

"Shit," he breathed, uncomfortable with the way Jo's eyes seared into him, sizing him up, trying to read him like an open book. "I forgot something important, didn't I?"

"Yes," and he heard Alexis mumbling something about always having to keep him in line. "Paige's-Parents-Get-Together. They wanted us to come to dinner tonight so we can start making plans for the trip to Europe."

"Ah, yes. The infamous Europe trip."

"Why do I get the feeling you did this on purpose?"

"Did what?" he teased, knowing how much she hated it when he acted clueless.

"Found a way to get out of dinner," she said with exasperation oozing through her tone.

His eyes scanned the woman beside him, - her model bone structure, delicate, graceful neck, jutting collarbones… "I assure you, Alexis, this trip wasn't planned. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision and I had no control over it."

"Yeah, right," she sighed, hinting that she didn't believe him. "I'll always be your little girl, Dad, but I'm growing up and you're going to have to cut the apron strings sometime…Hopefully soon… I know you worry, but you can trust me not to do anything stupid. I'll be perfectly fine traipsing around Europe with Paige's family."

"I know I can trust you. It's the dashing, pubescent Parisian boys I'm worried about."

"There's no need too. Paige's parents are as protective as you are."

He winked slyly at Johanna and whispered, "No one is as protective as me." He got the reward he was looking for when she smiled that unbelievably bright, glorious grin of hers that could outshine an iridescent rainbow.

"By the way, what city are you in?"

"Chicago, and let me tell you that it's appropriately named, The Windy City, as I have to lean forward to keep from being blown over."

His eyes grew wide and practically bulged out of his head at his daughter's next question.

"Why don't I believe you? ... You're not lying to me, are you?"

"Uhh," he faltered, and about suffered a major heart attack when Alexis continued with, "Please tell me that you're not shacked up with identical twins."

Rick coughed, spluttered, couldn't quite catch his breath, and from Johanna's 'knowing' eyeroll, she obviously thought it was a common occurrence for him to bed two women at once.

_Oh Gawd. _So not where his mind needed to go right now.

His flabbergasted reaction caused Jo to remove the needle from his neck instead of accidentally injecting him. His hand immediately flew over the spot, rubbing it gingerly.

"No, **no** twins," and his eyes locked onto hazel ones brimmed with luminous lashes. His hand swept over her creamy cheek before saying, "Just an extraordinary fan who can't seem to get enough of your Dad."

"Eww, TMI!"

"Just pulling your leg, sweetheart. It's all work and no play here. Makes me a very grouchy man."

"You wouldn't even know the definition of 'grouch'."

His laughter was instantaneous, boisterous. "That's because I have a daughter with an old soul."

"Well this old soul is off to the library to study for an AP Chemistry test on Monday... When will you be home?"

He raised a quizzical eyebrow at his beautiful captor and she mouthed the word, "Monday."

"Monday, late afternoon."

"K"

"Alexis Harper?"

"Yeah?"

"You know how much I love you, right?"

She paused before answering and Castle prayed that she understood what he was trying to convey to her…

"Of course, Dad. Love you too."

"Kiss Grams for me."

"Will do. Bye."

"Bye."

Before Johanna hit the 'End' button on his phone, she turned on him with flashing eyes, down-turned mouth, hands on shapely hips and said something which (_Bloody hell_) confirmed her 'witchy powers'.

"What the hell was that, Castle? … You two have a secret system to let the other one know when something's wrong? Some code to let your daughter know when you're in trouble? A password that only has meaning to you both?"

He crossed his fingers, hoping he could pull some of his mother's acting talent out of thin air. He grinned effortlessly, - all full lips, bright-white smile, eyes crinkling in the corner. "Come here," he demanded, grabbing her hand and yanking her towards him. She awkwardly landed on the bed, hands sprawled on his chest, one knee jabbing into his ribs.

"Look into these handsome baby blues. What do you see?"

His question threw her off guard and she bit down on her tempting lower lip thoughtfully. She leaned into him, smelling like she'd just had torrid sex on a beach, like musk and sand and sunlight.

_Mmm, a ravishing combination._

His eyes dropped automatically to her chest as the jersey draped open, exposing her black, Victoria Secret bra and enticing, curved flesh peeking above it.

_She's smokin' hot, _he thought before her lips stopped an inch away from his.

Her eyes held his, twinkling merrily. "Not so much 'handsome' as 'pretty'. You have pretty, sky-blue eyes."

"Pretty?" he smirked. "I'll have you know that I've been told on multiple occasions that I have rugged good-looks… There's nothing pretty about me… Look again."

"Mmm," she sighed, making sure her breath teased over his mouth, _the little minx._ "I see nice lips, a rugged nose, and eyes so beautiful that they'd look natural on a woman."

"If you'd like me to, I'm happy to prove that I have no feminine traits whatsoever."

"I just bet you could."

"Yes, - happily." His free hand reached up and grasped her chin, holding it tenderly, looking deeply into her ever-changing eyes. "I did not try and send Alexis a covert message. You heard everything I said to her. She firmly believes I'm in Chicago now on a short book tour. She may also assume, correctly may I add, that I'm, - umm," his eyes noticeably fell to her lips, "entertaining an **extraordinary** fan."

She abruptly looked away from him as if uncomfortable with the compliment, cheeks blushing a rosy hue.

"You two have an amazing relationship," she stated softly, as if it was a known fact among his circle of fans.

"We do," his fingers found the curvature of her spine, stroking the thin flesh. "There's not much I'm proud of in this life except for her. She's the center of my world."

"I know. It's one of the reasons I feel such a connection with you."

She fidgeted against him, evidently uncomfortable with revealing too much. She pushed away from him and slid off the bed, grabbing her skinny jeans.

"I've got to check on something," she said abruptly while pulling on her jeans, - hopping in a cute, decidedly sexy manner to be able to maneuver the skin-tight fabric up and over her curvaceous hips.

She walked to her dresser and removed the blonde wig off the mannequin head, placing it on top of her own. She shoved a few bobby pins into her hair to hold the wig in place. The librarian glasses came next, camouflaging those intriguing eyes. She did something then that surprised him, made him wonder about this particular aspect of her story… She pulled a silver chain out of her jewelry box, fondling reverently the small, gold wedding ring attached to it, looking entranced as she read the inscription on the band. She brought the ring to her lips, gently kissing it, before securing the chain around her neck.

An undeniable urge to read the inscription assailed him.

"I shouldn't be gone very long. Please finish the food, and you're certainly welcome to take a shower if you like." A weary, jaded smile made its way across her face before she said, "I promise that you'll be back to your old, Playboy life come Monday. You probably won't believe this about me, but my word is gold." She stepped into those alluring 4 inch-heeled-boots and before sashaying out the door, glanced back at him.

"And Castle?"

"Yeah?" he asked, finding it hard to believe that she was actually going to leave him alert and alone in her bedroom where he could undoubtedly get into some trouble of his own.

"Please don't try and escape. I **know** how to find you."

His heart thumped erratically as she turned away from him all straight, slim back and Alessandra Ambrosio ass… He berated himself for the stirrings of need that vibrated through him.

_No, _(he tried to convince himself) it wasn't an insatiable desire to get to know the real woman that plagued him. _No,_ it wasn't a feeling of loneliness that engulfed him as soon as she left the room. _No_, he wasn't feeling slightly let down that she didn't trust him enough to take him with her. _No_, he wasn't already missing her presence and wishing she'd turn back around and come back to him.

It had to be nervousness flowing through his veins knowing he was now alone and his chance for escape had presented itself.

_Escape._

_From her._

_From the broken beauty that just might be a certifiably crazy cop._

_Or a skilled sorceress._

As he unknotted the scarf to free himself from the headboard, he realized whatever his captor was suffering from must be contagious, (_Lord help him_) because he no longer felt a desire to flee.


	7. Chapter 7

***I will post Kate's POV next chapter***

**...**

Rick doesn't try the door as he already knows she locked it from the other side, but if he had a mind to, he figures he could kick it in after several attempts.

He notices the floor safe first and guesses that it most likely holds her service revolver, handcuffs or any other type of gear she feels needs to be locked away… He starts with her dresser and upon pulling open the high-quality furniture smiles at the feminine lingerie inside.

_Interesting, she doesn't much like color, - or cotton. _There are no spicy red, royal blue or sunlight yellow items, - mostly black, gray and beige elegant bras and panties lie within.

Suspecting she's a police officer causes him to carefully move aside the silk and lace, making sure nothing looks disturbed. He comes across one pair of sinful panties though that make his groin ache… A violet purple low cut bikini that will barely cover her pubic bone and most likely display the crack of her ass.

He pockets them, hoping she doesn't mind as it will be his one and only memoir of their weekend.

He comes across Guess jeans, yoga pants, a couple of T-shirts that barely look like they'd fit Alexis and comfortable pajama bottoms… Just as he thinks he won't find anything of interest, he opens the last drawer and an 8X10 picture of a giddy Johanna dressed in her high school graduation gown stares up at him. It's in a lovely gilded frame as if it's normally displayed somewhere in her room. She's in the middle of the picture with her parents to either side. It's easy to see the resemblance between them both. She has her father's height, his nose, and smile but she definitely resembles her Mother more with the dark hair, face shape and soulful eyes. She looks joyously happy with the sun setting behind her, clinging to her mother's side.

It hits him like a brick that whatever changed her life, permanently scarred her, happened after high school graduation. At least he believes he has a timeframe now.

He decides to head to her Master closet next and upon entering the large suite, laughs out loud… He didn't expect her to be a typical woman… But right in front of him, neatly displayed in an assortment of colors and heels are at least 75 different pairs of shoes from pricey manufacturers. He recognizes Choos, Louboutins, Vuittons, Steigers, and picks up a fire-engine red stiletto that screams, 'These-are-my-fuck-me-heels'. He takes the strap of the shoe and twirls it around and around his finger, grinning goofily.

He tries to tell himself that he only recognizes the shoe brands due to his ex wives, both being shoe lovers / hoarders, _(and apparently, Jo is too) _and it's **not** because he's metro-sexual.

He scans the rest of her closet quickly… She's neat, organized, and must come from money because her clothes range from Neiman Marcus to Dolce and Gabbana.

Her clothes match her lingerie, - dull, neutral colors. Mostly black, white, cream, beige, tan and grey blouses surround him. Professional attire. There is one, lone fancy dress that catches his eye in an emerald-green color with a plunging neckline that would emphasize her unique, hazel eyes.

He wonders if he could possibly get her to try it on as it would be so easy to lift that dress and - .

He has an, '_Aha,'_ moment as a flash of bright color teases him out of the corner of his eye…

_Mmm, what is that?_

Stuffed in the very corner, behind a Burberry trench coat, are several skimpy outfits that look like they were made for a pricey prostitute.

_Damn, I bet she's undercover Vice, _and just the thought has him at half-mast instantly.

He fingers a playful, hot-pink cocktail dress that looks to be a size too small. The dress would hug her indecently, the skimpy straps emphasizing her luscious collar bones, the heart bodice showcasing her breasts and the skirt falling to 8 inches below her ass, making her gorgeous legs the focal point. In that dress, any man would have a hard time saying, 'No,' to her.

A tug on his heart makes him back away from the sultry street-walker outfits as he doesn't want to fathom how many men have approached her during her young life.

He looks up and catches site of a medium-size, unique metal box, feminine with purple flowers scattered across it. He steps on his toes to reach for it.

He opens the container carefully and _Holy shit! _He looks down at multiple vibrators, purple fuzzy handcuffs, a short riding crop, leather restraints and blueberry-flavored lube, _umm_, - among other things.

He licks his suddenly dry lips and doesn't touch anything in the box, leary about her finding out about his snooping. He certainly has no desire to offend her.

He places the metal box back on the shelf and decides he needs to take a shower. (_most likely a cold one_)

He heads into the bathroom, finds the shower tap and turns on the water.

As he's waiting for the temperature to heat up, he glances in the mirror at his reflection and notices his blood-shot eyes, most likely a side effect of the earlier drugs she gave him. He opens the mirror to look inside the cabinet for eye drops and finds … gold.

He picks up both prescription bottles with shaky fingers and scans the labels quickly: Both were prescribed by Dr Carter Burke, - one is Xanax, an anti-anxiety drug and the other is a well known antidepressant, Prozac. Both bottles have the patient's name, Katherine Beckett.

**...**

He leans forward, hands pressed against the shower wall and lets the hot water pound away on his aching muscles, lets the water release the tension in his upper back and shoulders.

His mind immediately falls to her.

Katherine Beckett.

Obviously a huge fan. Most likely a Vice cop. Most likely a nymphomaniac. Slightly unhinged. But he doesn't think she's certifiably crazy or even dangerous, - just a bit obsessive.

And maybe he's being naïve as he truly believes her when she says she'll release him on Monday.

_What the hell's her story?_

He doesn't hear her come into the bathroom, only feels the rush of cool air as it hits his backside as she pulls the shower curtain aside.

She looks at him through haunted eyes, - so lost and forlorn with mascara dripping down her cheeks.

Her face tells a tragic tale, one that doesn't have any hope, … one that she believes will never have a happy ending and he can't help trying to soothe her, try and erase some of the sorrow she's suffering.

He reaches for her, grasps behind her neck and pulls her gently towards him.

It doesn't matter that she's fully clothed as the only thing on his mind right now is comforting this woman who has somehow burrowed her way under his skin and touched his soul. She steps over and into the tub, her long arms embracing him, wrapping him in a fierce hug. She cries into his neck as the water streams down his chest.

He doesn't speak, just holds her and waits… Waits for the inevitable.

Her.

Him.

Them.

"Thank you," a hiccup, "for not, - hmm, - leaving me," she stammers and he can barely hear her above the pounding of the water which matches the pounding of his heart. "I didn't think you'd be here when I got back."

"You don't know me very well then," he says teasingly with just a bit of huskiness. "I could never pass up a weekend that will fuel inspiration for several books to come." His hand sweeps below her hair, fingers tumbling through her scalp. "I could never pass up on - **you**."

She doesn't say anything, just looks at him like there's more to him than meets the eye, more than she ever expected or hoped for.

"I just wish I knew how to help you."

Her eyes never leave his, strands of wet hair clinging to her ethereal face, eyes luminous with tears, lips plump from the hot water splashing them. "You have, Castle. More than you know… You already have."

Her gaze burns into him as if she's trying to memorize every fine detail of his face, - the creases on his forehead, every crinkle around his eyes, the laugh lines surrounding his lips. Her fingers swipe across his brow, along his cheekbone, down across the ridge of his jaw and finally gloss his lips.

And then she's on him, one limb wrapped agonizingly tight around his cock, her lips harsh and devastating.

_Combustion._

It's the only word he can think of as her lips demolish his, all bursts of fire and hot wet heaviness.

His breath stammers in his lungs and the blood surges south as she drinks him in, suffocating him with her talented mouth and clever tongue.

She pulls back, stares at him with liquid, hungry eyes and the arousal simmering just below the surface boils up, spills over the edges and burns through his veins.

Wildfire.

Fast, hot, explosive.

He can't get the Mets jersey off her quick enough and he struggles a bit as her brilliant tongue streaks over his stubbled face.

He growls in frustration so she raises both arms to assist him, looking like a sultry siren with wet hair splattered across her face. The jersey's hastily dropped to the bottom of the tub and he can't take his eyes off her glowing skin, - the long feminine line of her throat, the creamy collarbones, the perfect mounds that are nestled in her bra.

"Beautiful. So beautiful," pierces the confined room and his hands dart behind her… In one quick, deft move that proves he deserves his Casanova title, her brassiere is unclasped and those tantalizing breasts spring free. His lips latch onto a strawberry nub... He nips at the peak, grabs and then pulls excruciatingly slow.

The filthiest groan leaves her mouth and he can practically taste it on the steam billowing in the air.

She grinds into him agonizingly sweet before leaving him bereft... He swears at the loss of contact as she moves back from him, her nimble fingers speedily unbuttoning the button on her jeans and he's so attuned to her movements that he can hear each decisive click of the metal as she lowers the zipper.

She struggles to get the jeans off her hips, (_damn wet fabric_) so his hands join in, their fingers intertwining and each pull down with a dire urgency that mingles with the heated echos of their sighs.

As his hands pull away both the jeans and her lingerie, his breathing stops at the unmistakable tattoo emblazoned on her waxed pelvis… In elegant calligraphy writing is the date, 01 – 09 – 1999. He bends his knees and while holding onto her protruding hip bones, places a blazing trail of kisses along her taut abdomen, over her belly button, licking the water residing in its depth, and continuing further down until his mouth is across the tattoo.

He mumbles, "Johanna," onto her skin and slowly paints it there with his tongue.

She openly shivers at the sensation. Her hands delve into his hair, forcing his neck back. Her eyes collide with his, conflict and need raging within their depths. "Please don't call me her name anymore… It's –" she hesitates, and then shyly relays, "Nikki... Call me Nikki."

He has to admit he's disappointed that she doesn't trust him enough to give him her real name, but his smirk widens to egotistical proportions when he realizes she must have given him her Prostitute persona.

"Nik - ki" and it flows off his tongue like a hot, dirty word. "I can't fuckin' wait to taste you."

Her underwear and jeans are around her ankles and he kneels down, (oblivious to the ache his knees will feel afterwards) lifting her right foot so he can yank the rest of the wet fabric off her body.

She doesn't wait for him to remove the jeans from her other foot, just wraps her freed leg around his neck and purrs some salacious, utterly delicious sound of encouragement. Those silky, dark lashes fall close as his mouth lands on her labia. She bucks into his mouth, all eager and wanton and so ferociously good, and as he tastes her musky essence for the first time, Richard Castle thinks he just might **never** get enough of her.

Never get enough of the beautiful woman with the broken soul.


	8. Chapter 8

**Uggh! I really struggled with this chapter. Hopefully it flows okay and you find it meaningful... A special thanks to kennedybrideau & jamiewaskel for their lovely reviews.**

**...**

She honestly can't believe he's here as she never planned on taking him.

She'd woken up Friday morning with a lightness, (dare she say, happiness?) that she hadn't felt in months, adrenaline seeping through her veins at the prospect of finally meeting the one man who had made a difference in her life.

She found herself humming quietly while she got dressed, - donning baggy clothes, blond wig and librarian glasses, - her disguise whenever she left her apartment.

_Damn relentless press. _

It was hard to believe that three months after the incident, she was still newsworthy.

She didn't feel safe, didn't truly feel like herself, without also carrying her personal piece. Thank God, Captain Montgomery didn't know about her Smith and Wesson or it would've been confiscated as well.

After putting her gun in the back of her faded jeans and placing the Mets Baseball cap on the wig, she'd briefly glanced in the mirror and smirked, pleased with herself, because with this get-up, devoid of makeup, she barely resembled Detective Kate Beckett.

She tucked the last Derek Storm novel her mother had bought of his under her arm and with a swing in her step, left her apartment for The Forbidden Planet bookstore. She planned on taking the book to the cemetery afterwards and propping it against Johanna's headstone, - a gift to her mom, a token of apology and remorse for not finding her killer after all this time.

She stood in line behind several other fans, occasionally peeking past them to glance at the author. It was easy to see that the man cared about his appearance, wearing an expensive tailored suit that hugged his assets nicely. Her eyes roved over his handsome face, the perfectly-styled hair, the bushy eyebrows, broad nose, the full lips that fell easily into a generous smile, but it was his eyes that simply captivated her… Bluer than a cloudless sky, more beautiful than the first day of spring and she thought she wouldn't mind seeing those eyes on a regular basis.

The first time she heard his deep, boisterous laughter, something happened that she didn't expect… A tremor coursed through her, made her shiver in awareness of _him,_ and by the time she stood in front of him, engulfed by his blatant masculinity, she was a bit, _umm_, unsettled.

Her eyes skittered away from him as she nervously slid the Derrick Storm novel across the table.

"Make it out to Ka - . No, **Jo** please," hoping she didn't sound as flustered as she felt… At least she didn't believe he'd throw her into the category of, 'love-struck fan'.

She pulled and nibbled on her lower lip anxiously… His eyes were immediately drawn to the action and her heart fluttered out-of-control at the intensity of his gaze.

With an utterly engaging smile he teased, "Kay-Jo. Such an interesting, unique nickname. Quite pretty... May I ask how you got it?"

_Hell_, she didn't want him asking personal questions. She shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding eye contact.

"Nothing. It means nothing. Sorry. I meant to say, Johanna. Make it out to Johanna please."

_Well, at least he'll never guess that I'm a Detective with that lame-brain answer._

Her eyes quickly assessed her surroundings. She glanced at the Exit door, calculating how many steps it would take to reach it. She noticed the security guard standing off to Castle's right side, hovering, having the ability in seconds to reach him, to stop an obsessed fan if necessary.

After scanning the area, her eyes found his, - piercing, utterly beautiful.

As she felt herself falling into those never-ending depths, an underlying fear that he would recognize her from one of the many news articles pricked at her senses.

His gaze deepened, studying her features, trying to read her body language and as his eyes raked over her, an unexpected warmth traveled up through the soles of her feet to the tip of her head.

He broke the spell.

Reluctantly, it seemed, as he opened up the book to the title page and then paused…

She stopped breathing as the permanent marker landed on the page. She tried to follow what he was writing, but couldn't quite decipher it so waited patiently for him to finish.

As he handed her back the book, his fingertips skimmed hers. They were undeniably soft for a man's touch, especially since she expected them to be calloused due to his profession.

She noticed his eyes widening in surprise at the contact.

"I meant what I wrote," he said sincerely, his eyes never leaving her unadorned face.

One of his ex-wives rushed up then and tapped her Rolex impatiently saying there was one more hour left and she needed him to only autograph books instead of personalizing them so he could see as many fans as possible.

She turned back to the author with a shy smile, breathing gratefully, "Thank you, Castle."

She clutched her Mom's book to her heart and turned away from him, wishing she dared to look behind her, take one last look at him, - longing to imprint him forever on her mind, but she didn't dare take the chance.

She stood a little taller and sexily swayed her hips as she felt his eyes on her retreating form.

She threw the security guard a beaming smile because her 'Detective sense' was never wrong… She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Richard Edgar Castle was checking her out.

**….**

She sat in her car a moment, trying to catch her breath as _Gawd_, she'd just met **thee** Richard Castle and the man was simply magnetic. He was the type of person whom people were instinctively drawn to… In one word, - impressive, - exuding a sexy confidence with those pure azure eyes that seemed to look past the disguise and all the way into her heart.

She couldn't help but be enthralled by his aura of 'genuineness'. He seemed real, which completely took her by surprise. She'd expected him to be cocky, suave, even a bit goofy, but he'd been almost the complete opposite, - attentive, utterly focused on her, making her feel like she was the only woman in the room.

She opened the book with slightly trembling fingers, eager to read the author's inscription:

_**To Johanna, a truly lovely name which means 'God is gracious'.**_

_**The Man upstairs and I have one thing in common. We both hope that all your dreams come true, in the printed word as well as reality. Don't be afraid to reach for your dreams, Jo.**_

It was as if he looked right into her soul and knew exactly what she needed to hear...

_Don't be afraid to reach for your dreams, a_nd the author himself just happened to be her last one.

She doesn't think she would've ever considered kidnapping him if she hadn't of found her friend's Physician bag on the floor of her car. She'd picked up Lanie from work the night before so the two of them could have a girls-night-out and the bubbly M.E. had accidentally forgotten her medical bag.

Her life was already so fucked up with hitting road block after road block into her mother's case, her father falling off the wagon again, the pending 'Wrongful Death' suit against her, the suspension from the force, the IA investigation, as well as the mandated sessions with Dr. Burke.

Seriously, what was one more thing?

She tamped down the cop in her screaming about kidnapping being a federal offense and she could very well be throwing her career / life away, and determined if she found a sedative in Lanie's bag, that it was a sure sign she should embrace her dream and take the one man who'd been her life preserver during these last nine, hellish years.

His words alone had pushed her forward when she encountered stumbling blocks and dead ends, discouragement overwhelming her. His books had made her believe that she could find justice for her mother as well as hopefully, one day, peace for herself.

His words had literally saved her.

_Him._

And just maybe, if he went to the police and reported the kidnapping after she let him go, he'd be a witness for the defense, justifying her 'insanity plea' if her own case ended up going to trial.

She knew a little about anaesthetics due to the required medical course while in the academy and sure enough, she came across Propofol in Lanie's bag as well as a syringe.

She didn't have to wait long for the author. She'd hidden in the shadows of the parking garage, standing in a corner near the door he'd have to pass through, and couldn't believe her luck when no one else happened to be in the area. She'd tailed him to his car, admired his ass encased in the Zanella slacks, and once he'd unlocked his Escalade and sat in the front seat, it had been easy to insert the needle and render him unconscious…

And now, she's living a dream, - waking up curled into Richard Castle's gloriously nude body.

She can't believe how much he's surprised her, - his acceptance of the situation, like it's more an adventure than actual captivity, - his little-boy charm, his inquisitive mind, his **instinctive **need to comfort her, (which she refuses to ponder) and his extremely unselfish nature in bed.

She can't believe he asked (NO, it was more like begged) her to stay the evening with him, sleep next to him all night long.

He's next to her, all baby fine hair and muscular form. She's inhaling his sexy scent, - a hint of antique wood and some expensive cologne she can't identify.

He's still sound asleep, lying on his back, and her body is curled into him, her head lying on his shoulder, right leg thrown over his thigh, her arm slung low over his hip bone.

She studies his features, - the oil-black eyelashes, the heavy line between his eyebrows, (which she has to resist touching) the small lines fanning out at his eyes, the aristocratic nose with tiny freckles smattered across the bridge, the full kissable lips, the strong jaw, the irresistible stubble smattered across his face.

He is in one word, - gorgeous.

And by God, her insides quiver with firsthand knowledge that the tabloids haven't exaggerated his expertise, - the man certainly knows how to please a woman.

_It's way beyond that, _her conscience prods her, _he knows how to make you feel like the BEST damn lay of his life_... She immediately represses the thought, refusing to dwell on it.

She's been postponing the inevitable, - changing the subject when he asks personal questions, easily deflecting them, - knowing that he deserves some answers, will NOT rest until he gets some, but ... she's afraid.

Afraid that he'll only see her as half-a-person, irrevocably damaged due to her obsession with finding her mother's killer.

Afraid that he'll notice she's hiding behind a wall of bricks, stone and debris 10 feet high and that it's just not worth the effort to try and climb over to reach her.

Afraid that once he knows her story, the appeal will be gone and he'll lose interest in her.

Last night as they'd fucked (her heart tries to insist that they made love) he'd looked at her as if she was the most stunning, fascinating, extraordinary woman he'd ever met and she'd felt as valued as a Rembrandt or Van Gogh painting, - treasured , priceless.

_Shit, I'm falling for the notorious Playboy, Richard Castle._

Another fear alighted and landed heavily on her heart...

Now that she's had a taste of Richard Edgar Castle, no man will measure up again.

No man will ever compare to him.


	9. Chapter 9

His hands.

They're large.

Soft.

Talented.

Addicting.

She can't get enough of his touch.

His fingers float along the underside of her jaw and trickle past her ear, clinging to the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck.

His electric eyes hone in on her face like a homing pigeon zeroing in on its nest.

He smiles, and it says nothing at all and yet everything at once, as his lips bow into a devil-may-care grin.

His eyes fall like a waterfall over her unlined forehead, her darkening hazel orbs, straight, narrow nose and settle on her slightly-parted lips.

She whispers his name, all ferocious and dark rolled into one breathless, "Cas - sle."

It's an on-slaught - his mouth on hers, brutal and possessive and out of control.

Her mouth opens and his tongue immediately delves in, swirling around hers in a fluid movement filled with mounting desire.

His kiss is rich, drugging and down-right dirty.

It's both a dream and reality as he drinks her in, sampling her taste, his fingers searching and dipping over every curve of her body.

A sound catches in the back of his throat; a raw, almost-painful moan.

She wants to hear it again.

His hands press erotically into her hipbones while hers find his broad chest, exploring his smooth, muscular frame. She opens her mouth wider, eagerly inviting him to invade further, to take full advantage of what she has to offer.

Their tongues twist and tangle together in a sensuous rhythm new lovers know by heart and with a jerk of his masculine hips, he pulls her into a volcanic inferno abyss where they are the only two who exist.

Hot, molten lava starts coursing through her veins.

He moves to feast on her throat and she whimpers at the new sensation, his teeth nibbling her like she's a delectable dessert.

He speaks and it's deep, throaty, - causes a pool of moisture to seep between her thighs.

"You make me feel like an insatiable teenager."

Her stomach flips from his words, want blooming low in her belly and her head swims with the knowledge that he's just as affected by her as she is by him.

There's no barrier of clothing between them but she struggles to get closer to him, can't feel enough of his baby-fine skin. He shoves his massive thigh into her core and with an evocative twist of her hips, she grinds down, smearing her wetness all over him.

"How is it that you're so damn wet **every**," he nips at her earlobe, "**single**," his tongue licks around the shell of her ear, "**time**?"

"Because it's you," and then she's gasping for air as his thick fingers advance stealthily down her navel, over her defined six pack abs and skirt at the top of her labia.

"It's you, Rick."

He noticeably trembles at the use of his first name.

Oh, how he wants to steal her air and her sanity, shake her apart under his hands and finally make her come with his cock alone.

He masterfully plays her body, - tweaking, thrumming and stroking her like a professional musician would his most beloved instrument.

_Holy Fuck, _she's never been with a man before who knows all seven erogenous zones on a woman.

He's unbelievably attentive, meticulous to a fault, - brings her to the brink of ecstasy and dangles her over the thousand foot precipice, but refuses to let her fall.

Damn his cockiness, knowledge and experience.

She hates it when she sounds so needy and pathetic but can't help it under his expert ministrations with those pale-blue eyes memorizing every contour of her body like she's a heavenly Goddess.

She pants for release.

She begs.

She demands.

She threatens.

And just as she's ready to take matters into her own hands, perform a jujitsu move which will render him helpless and make him putty in her hands, he's off the bed and roughly flipping her onto her stomach. His left arm slides beneath her hips, hauling her towards him and onto her knees.

She screams when his cock slams into her from behind. A feral, wild noise that rebounds off his heart and reverberates in the air around them, igniting the heat sparks in the room.

She's catapulted through the air, - soaring, flying, tumbling, - propelled to new heights of ecstasy as his member slams home, stretches her to the hilt and throbs incessantly with unfulfilled need.

His brain is short circuiting and all he can think of are 3 short words circling around and around in his mind.

Nikki.

Heat.

Fuck.

Each moment is spread out into eternity and for one split second he feels infinite, and in that moment, Nikki Heat is born.

All it takes is two hard, masterful strokes and her sugar walls convulse, constricting him like a virgin, sending him to the point of no return.

As his semen spurts inside her womb, she sees shooting stars, brilliant white bursts of light that are blinding in intensity. She groans his name, knuckles blanching from curling into the sheets; she feels full and spent and renewed, like she's been born anew from the pure, raw chemistry burning between them.

That. Was. Amazing.

He. Is. Amazing.

He doesn't move for thirty seconds, doesn't speak, - notices the tiny tendrils of hair slicked with sweat against her feminine neck, focuses on the elegant curve of her back, the sexy divot at the base of her spine.

She shivers as his lips cascade down her vertebrae. His arm encircles beneath her in a tender hug and he voices something he didn't think he'd ever say to a woman.

"What have you done to me?"

She reluctantly moves away from him, rolls onto her back, grasps his hands and pulls him down on top of her. She kisses his forehead, his eyelids, catching his cerulean gaze.

"Nothing that you haven't already done to me."

**…**

She's feeding him large purple grapes. Her eyes never leave his lips as she slowly pops one in his mouth and watches him chew the luscious fruit.

Damn, she's hot as hell with that wild-eyed, I-just-had-the-most-delicious-sex-of-my-life look on her face.

The sun streams through her partially-open blinds and his eyes fixate on the necklace that's shimmering in the bright light. The narrow silver chain is dangling from her jewelry box and even though the antique wedding ring is nestled inside, he can still picture it perfectly.

"Nikki," he says, searching out her hazel eyes. "Take pity on me and give me something. I know so little about you. I promise that whatever you tell me about your life will be kept in the strictest confidence."

Her eyes can't hold his gaze so fall to his Adam's apple and watch in fascination as he swallows nervously. She has an irresistible urge to nuzzle her face into his neck and just let everything spill out… The devastation of her mother's death. Having to take care of her alcoholic father. Her dreams of someday becoming the first female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court being crushed .

She played the waiting game after Johanna's death, believed in the Officer's who were working her mother's case, believed that justice would prevail, believed that when the bastard was arrested for first degree murder that her father would pull himself out of the bottle.

She'd been diligent in harassing the police, keeping them on their toes, but still, month after month passed with no fresh leads. Then one morning, (one that she'll never forget) she'd awoken to the dreaded call that her mother's case had been cold-filed, - forcing her to make a rash decision… She joined the academy, graduated top of her class and determined within 5 years she'd be on the path to becoming the best homicide Detective in NYC, determined that she alone would find her mother's killer.

After 7 years of countless hours spent off the clock researching her mother's death, hitting dead-end after dead-end, admittedly falling down the rabbit hole, driving her to the brink of insanity, she finally took a hard look at her life and decided for her own peace of mind it was time to put it all behind her, concentrate on attaining happiness through finding closure for other murdered victim's families.

Then 6 months later, _**thee **_case landed in her jurisdiction, bringing up all the horrible past memories, the sorrow, angst and guilt and she'd done what she'd never thought possible...

Now, she's forced into seeing a psychiatrist, suspended from the force with IAD marring her every step, waiting for the outcome whether or not her 'Wrongful Death' suit will go to trial.

And today, Richard Castle is by her side, his scent embedded in her sheets, his hands roving over her in a comforting manner, eyes boring into her as if he can't wait for her to bear her soul.

"The wedding ring you wear around your neck," he begins tentatively. "It's simple, but yet unique. Beautiful."

"Thank you."

"It's somehow linked with your tattoo, isn't it?" His thumb drops to her pelvis and runs over the calligraphy ink, 01 - 09 - 1999.

She shakes her head up and down and sighs, "Yes." Her fingers reach up and brush a tendril away from his forehead. "You're pretty observant for a writer."

His cocky smile reflects, 'I-certainly-excel-at-observing,-among-other-things' and he prods,"Tell me how."

"It's not something I share with everyone."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yes, I gather you're a very private person." He raises her chin, locking onto her eyes. "Buuut, you haven't always been this way, - been this guarded... Something happened to you... An unexpected tragedy that wounded you heart, body and soul. A tragedy that you've never recovered from."

From the moisture gathering in her eyes, he knows he guessed correctly. He wipes a tear away from her eyelashes before asking gently, "Did you lose your husband?"

"No. I've never been married."

"God, don't tell me you lost your baby."

"No. I didn't miscarry or lose a child."

As he watches her irises cloud over in sorrow, black lashes fluttering excessively to stop the tears from forming, a light bulb suddenly turns on in his mind.

"Johanna. You lost Johanna."

"Yes," she says meekly, "My mother."


End file.
